


Razorblade Kiss

by speccygeekgrrl



Series: speccygeekgrrl's 2014 Kink Bingo fills [4]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Bloodplay, F/F, Possessive Behavior, Root just wants to draw all over Shaw, Straight Razors, cause that's how they do, in blood, kink bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 11:16:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1816639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speccygeekgrrl/pseuds/speccygeekgrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Root thinks that Shaw looks particularly lovely when she's bloodstained. Shaw is on board to let her put the blood there outside of the usual context of blood getting all over her. Art, of a sort, ensues. Just with a straight razor instead of a paintbrush.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Razorblade Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> This is another Kink Bingo story! Bloodplay isn't really my thing, but it suits them far too well for me not to give it a shot. I haven't written explicit femslash since like 2009, so... I hope it turned out okay!

It's important to have the right tools for the task at hand.

Shaw told her once that Finch said that Reese is a scalpel and she's a hammer. For all that, if their positions were reversed, it would be a scalpel in Shaw's hand right now. Ever since her stapedectomy, though, Root's had an aversion to scalpels, and prefers to use other types of blade to do her detail work.

She uses a straight razor. It's honed as keen as any scalpel, and she likes the look of it, the weight in her hand. She likes that if she needed to use it as such, it would be an excellent weapon. She doesn't use it as a weapon. She uses it as a drawing stylus. Her canvas is Sameen's compact and much-scarred body, already a work of art in Root's eyes, but she adds a few flourishes of her own.

The first time she suggests it, "I want to draw all over you," Shaw looks mildly interested, until she adds, "with a blade," and then she looks _really_ interested.

"What makes you think I'd be willing to let you do that?" she challenges, chin tipped up, and Root smiles at her and trails a fingertip down Shaw's bare forearm in a wavy line.

"Curiosity. You want to see what I'd do, admit it. Come on, Sameen. You're already lovely, I just want to decorate you a little more... you look so good when you're bloody, you know?"

"This isn't healthy," Shaw says, and Root doesn't even dignify that with a response. Of course this isn't healthy, it never has been, their entire relationship is built on a foundation of them doing massively unhealthy things to and with each other. But then Shaw shrugs and fingers the hem of her shirt. "So... when do you want to start?"

"No time like the present," Root says with relish, grinning when Shaw pulls off her shirt right there. Her sports bra hooks in the front; Root steps in and unhooks it herself, revealing more of Shaw's skin, spreading her hands out over her breasts and tweaking her nipples. "You should probably take the rest off too," she says, going to find where she stashed her sharp and sterilized blade in hopes that Shaw would agree to this. She comes back with a dark towel to spread under her and admires the view from behind-- Sameen is lithe, balanced as dangerously as a throwing knife, perfectly lethal, and her ass is frankly astonishing. Even naked and unarmed, she's deadly, and isn't that just the icing on the _sweet Machine, she's hot_ cake?

"So what does this entail, exactly?" Shaw asks, and Root can't help herself from kissing that slightly doubtful twist right off Shaw's lips. 

"Don't you trust me?" she asks, batting her eyes, and Shaw gives her a flat look.

"I trust you not to get me killed. Short of that, not so much." 

"I thought you said you enjoy this sort of thing?"

"So you're going to torture me?"

"It's not torture if we're both enjoying it, is it? I'm not planning on interrogating you, Sameen. I just want to make pretty designs on your skin and watch them fill in with blood. Don't worry, I'm good with this thing," she twiddles the closed straight razor, "I know how to make shallow cuts. You won't even need butterfly bandages, let alone stitches. I swear." 

"What are you going to draw?" Shaw asks, and there it is, the tone of voice has ticked over from skeptical to intrigued, and Root grins.

"I have some ideas. Persian-inspired design might be a bit advanced to start with, but if we get there, I think you'll like my plan... but we should start simple. Circuitry, I think."

"You're the one connected to the Machine, not me," Shaw points out, and Root tsks.

"You're still Her asset. Unless you were under the impression that working for Harold is different than working for Her? No, you and I are both Hers, don't you think it's appropriate to mark you as such?" Her fingertips stroke Shaw's belly, her side, come up to trail one finger along her breastbone, where Root taps once. "Right here."

"So why'd I have to take off my pants?" Root steps back, eyes Shaw languidly, head to toe and back up again, gaze heated and intent. Shaw cocks one hip to the side and looks back at her with a smirk-- she knows exactly how good she looks and just how much she turns Root on, and it's an advantage she presses from time to time. 

"Trust me, there's a reason," Root says, slightly flushed along the cheekbones. She spreads out the towel on her unmade bed and waves Shaw toward it like beckoning to royalty. “Get comfortable, Sameen.” Shaw’s idea of comfortable is a lazy sprawl, mouthwateringly tempting, but Root won’t be diverted from her plans. Art first, the clean sting of pain, and _then_ pleasure. She nudges Shaw’s legs apart and kneels between them, studiously ignoring where her mouth wants to go in favor of the blank canvas between Shaw’s breasts. “Put your hands behind your head,” she instructs, and Shaw’s upraised arms pull her breasts to the side, leaving the space between flat and open to Root’s razor.

Simple, she said, and it is simple, mostly just lines, delicate tracery of circuits in the pattern of the motherboard of the dominant servers running the Machine. The scratch of the razor’s tip parts Shaw’s skin cleanly, but Root’s hands are perfectly steady, and the cuts are shallow as promised, just deep enough to bring blood to the surface, bright and wet and vital. Shaw licks her lips as she watches Root focused so intently on decorating her in such a real and intimate manner, smearing the blood with the edge of her pinkie as she works, turning her hand to lick it off almost absent-mindedly, all her concentration on what she's doing to Shaw's skin. 

Root's lips stain red, redder, and Shaw shivers underneath the feather's touch of the razor, wondering what kind of creation Root intends to craft her into, another, lesser extension of the Machine's will? She wonders what the Machine thinks of all this, their extracurricular activities, the way they come together after a mission like cool and warm air fronts colliding, the storm that rages between them bringing them both violently alive after another narrow brush with death. Root is electrifying, Shaw thinks, not just with the kiss of her tazer but the kiss of her lips, the way she bites, the static that collects in the bounce of her hair, the way her touches tingle in their wake, nerves afire with the scratch of her nails. Scion of the Machine, rewriting her own bad code into something better (with encouragement, of course, and something of a role model even if she does think Harold is hilarious in his paternalistic tendencies), the team willing to rally behind her now that she knows the value of a life, that knowledge sparking in her fingertips as she caresses Shaw with bizarre tenderness sometimes. Whatever ends she's crafting her toward (or should that be She?), Shaw's faith in the Machine is solid, and the faith she claims not to have in Root is there despite her disavowal. Trust not to get her killed, yes, but lately other kinds of trust, trust enough to follow Root's directions, trust enough to open the door to her apartment and let Root in without making her break in, trust enough to close her eyes and sleep with the scent of Root's rose shampoo teasing her nose.

"Oh, Sameen," Root breathes, wiping the wash of blood from Shaw's chest with a corner of the towel before sitting back on her heels and admiring her handiwork. Shaw looks down and there it is, circuitry emblazoned in blood, a diagram to bring her one step closer to the perfection of the Machine. Her pale skin is smeared with red in between the lines where fresh blood wells up, and Root bends to trace one of those lines with her tongue, making Shaw gasp at being tasted in such a strange new way. "I was right, you're gorgeous when you're all bloody," Root purrs as she lifts her head, licking her lips with slow sensuality. She wipes the razor clean on the towel and tosses it to her bedside table, and then her hands go to Shaw's thighs, spreading them wider, one fingertip teasing at her entrance to find her thoroughly wet already. "You _do_ enjoy this sort of thing," she says, pleased, "you're so quiet, it's kinda hard to tell."

"Making a lot of noise is counterproductive for a spy," Shaw notes dryly, hissing in a sharp breath when Root pushes two fingers deep into her and curls them, grinning.

"I don't need a lot of noise," Root says, "and I know I can get you to make _some_ for me." She dips her head again as she fucks Shaw with her fingers, tonguetip tracing the circuit lines and her hair tickling Shaw's breasts. Shaw does battle with her pride for a moment and decides that positive reinforcement can only be a good thing if she wants Root to keep going-- and she does-- so instead of repressing the moan like she’d usually do, she lets it out, still quietly but there in the air between them. Root glances up, a delighted smile on her bloodstained lips, and purrs, “yes, like that, excellent.” Her thumb finds Shaw’s clit and Shaw snarls with how good it feels, almost angry that Root knows just how to get her to do what Root wants, almost angry that she really does want to do what Root wants most of the time.

“Shut the fuck up and get up here and kiss me,” Shaw demands, and maybe she should be worried that the taste of her own blood in the other woman’s mouth makes her that much wetter, but she bites Root’s lip until it’s not just her own blood she’s tasting, and the breathy sound Root makes as her teeth break skin shoots right up to the top of the list of Shaw’s favorite things to hear. She wraps her hand in Root’s hair and yanks her head back, smirking at her heavy-lidded eyes before Shaw lowers her mouth to Root’s neck and bites hard, sucking, wanting to leave a mark on her when Root’s left such a beautiful set of marks on her. This one will be visible, though, high on her pale throat, a vivid bruise where anyone can see it. Usually Shaw leaves her marks under Root’s clothes, but she’s still wearing them, so it’s really her own fault that she’s going to have to deal with Harold side-eyeing her tomorrow.

“Fuck, Sam…” Root’s free hand curls around Shaw’s bicep, nails digging in, and she gasps as Shaw gives one last hard suck and releases her neck. “A little possessive?” she teases, dragging her fingers slowly out before pushing back in with three of them.

“Says the woman in some weird symbiosis with a supercomputer who just carved circuitry into her lover,” Shaw says, amused, rocking her hips into the rhythm Root sets with her hand. “If that’s not possessive…”

“Oh, no, that’s totally possessive,” Root says, “you’re mine, you’re _ours_ , for the remainder of our undoubtedly abbreviated lifespans.”

“It sounds so romantic when you put it that way,” Shaw snarks, and Root laughs and shakes her head and kisses Shaw almost sweetly on the mouth.

“You wouldn’t know what to do with romance if I tried it. No, we’re already speaking the same language here, and you know exactly what this means.” The cuts have stopped bleeding, but the lines sting when Root presses her hand flat against Shaw’s breastbone, and slides it over to cover her heart, her other hand still working busily between Shaw’s thighs. “Don’t worry. She’ll take care of us, and I’ll take care of you, and we’ll all be okay.”

“You left out a step of that equation,” Shaw says, letting her head fall back against the pillow as she feels her orgasm start to crest. “I’ll-- I’ll take care of you, too!” It ends as kind of a yelp. Root just laughs as she keeps her hand moving, not letting Shaw off the hook, driving her right into a second orgasm on the heels of the first. Shaw does something that she would literally kill a person for describing as whimpering, even if that’s precisely what it is, and Root kisses her hard as she eases her fingers out.

“I know you will, Sameen,” she whispers against Shaw’s lips. “I have every faith that you’ll do exactly that.”


End file.
